Fois Gras and Me

I have a confession to make: I don’t like fois gras. There. I said it. It’s out there and there’s no taking it back. I’m sorry to offend the entire country of France, but I can no longer tolerate your specialty.
But seriously, I don’t, I just…I just can’t like it. I’ve tried it, and tried to like it, but it just doesn’t work. Me and fois gras, we just weren’t made to be together. It’s like Tom and Jerry or Romeo and Juliet (sans the devoted love part); we just can’t live together in peace. I don’t like it, and it doesn’t like me (and I KNOW it doesn’t like me, because why else would it insist on inflicting it’s terribly, pasty, meat and backwoods smoky taste on my tongue every time I try and suffer through it for the sake of France?). But if there’s one thing the French have trouble accepting, it’s the disrespect in the form of dislike of their favorite devil’s-paste. Let’s recap on last night’s Rotary Christmas dinner, shall we?
Alright, so for the most part, it went really well. I held my own conversation wise and overall the evening was quite pleasant, held in a folksy but classy little Bed and Breakfast just outside of Compiegne. During the aperitif, I was making friendly conversation with two Rotarians when I was asked a simple question: What French food did I not find mouth-watering delicious and thoroughly irresistible (as if there was such a food!)? I answered as honestly and humbly as I could that while I can occasionally manage cooked and warm fois gras, when it’s cold it just does not suit my gout. Later, as everyone was settling down at the table and the menu was being shown around and discussed, I saw that –surprise!- our entrée was not one, but two different sorts of the very meat paste that makes my palate tingle in horror. The nice man I talked to at the start looked at me and with a friendly twinkle in his eye said “uh, oh, Kristen…”
I prepared myself to suffer through it silently as the entree arrived. After all, I’d done it before. Just put a little on your fork, place at the back of your tongue where it can do the least amount of damage to the taste buds and swallow, followed by a quick bite of bread. With everyone served, I looked down at my plate with apprehension and eyed my enemy. I picked up my fork, cut off a piece big enough to pass for a solid try and prayed that my taste buds would suddenly numb and save me the horror that I had experienced every other time I’d eaten it. They didn’t. I tried again with a slightly smaller piece. Same. I continued one or two more times each with a smaller piece than the last when a voice startled me out of my agony. “Do you like it?” I was asked. Before I could demurely murmur that it was fine, thank you, someone spoke up for me saying “she doesn’t like fois gras”.
Silence. Deafening silence. Slowly, person by person, it spread down the table that –horror of horrors! – Kristen doesn’t like the heavenly fattened liver of goose that is one of France’s most prized specialties. I swear that you would have thought I had stood up, threw some wine and then slapped the lady across from me with the looks of shock I was greeted with. Thankfully, several people came quickly back to their senses and offered kindly “no worries”, assuring me that I wasn’t obligated to eat it.
As conversation started back up again, my rotary contact looked at me and said “Donnez-moi”…give me. Embarrassed, intimidated and bewildered, I handed her my plate and the remaining food of Satan was divided between whoever wanted it and passed around the entire table as I sat quietly with my cheeks burning and my dirty silverware in my hand. The waiter, alarmed at the passing of my plate, asked if everything was all right to which the response was “Oh, yeah…she’s just American”. I guess that explained everything.
I spent the remainder of the (four hour) meal eating everything on my plate - the plat principal of chicken and potatoes, the plate of cheese (which wreaked havoc on my stomach) and the dessert plate of chocolate (despite my being so full I wasn’t sure if I could stand up) – and comment on how much I liked it and trying to explain that I’m really not a picky eater…I swear!!
Other than that, the dinner passed without a problem as I made conversation here and discussed “le crise” there. It was mostly a success which puts me at 1 and fois gras at 3 (seeing as I silently ate it ALL the three other times it was given to me). I’m catching up pasty liver fat…watch your back.

So, the past two weekends I was in Belgium with my host family with the most recent being for the wedding of my “aunt.” It was really lovely and everyone (especially the bride) looked wonderful. There was lots of food (FOIS GRAS, YOU GOT ME AGAIN!), dancing, wine, love and fun and for the first time, I really felt a break through with the language. I met more new people than I could possibly remember and spent the whole weekend with barely a word of English…a true accomplishment! Other than that, I’ve just been hanging around, babysitting, bike riding (12 km along the Belgian country side with my host grandmother…it was right out of a Forster novel, I swear!), celebrating St. Nicolas Day (who, is apparently NOT the same person as Santa Claus OR Pere Noel…and who goes around to all the children’s houses giving out gifts to the good and having his African helper BEAT THE BAD CHILDREN on Dec 6th) and sending out my Christmas cards. Last week my friend Victoria came to visit on Wednesday and we spent the day Christmas shopping at the marche de noel in my town and just speaking the wonderful language that is our native tongue. It’s been very cold lately…not that that really bothers me (upstate New Yorkers don’t get cold), it’s more the wind that’s so raw it could rip the skin right off your cheeks that gets to me.
I’m officially on break come Saturday and we’ll be off to Belgium again for the holidays (it really does not feel like Christmas to me at all). Then come January I change host families and a whole new period of readjustment and learning begins.

Have a safe and happy holiday! I miss and love you all!
Bisous,
Kristen

100th Day

+Because sometimes it's just too much for royalty to have to HOLD their books...

+The library at the chateau (a.k.a MECCA)

+Victoria and I

+District 1770!

Today my friends, is a big day. Today marks my 100th day in France. That’s right; 100 days ago today I landed in Charles de Gaulle airport slightly hysterical and equal parts excited and scared out of my mind. 100 days ago today I had no idea what was in store for me on this exchange, where I would travel, or who I would meet. 100 days ago today I didn’t know how much I could cry or how satisfying a trip alone to the post office could be. 100 days ago today I spoke just one language on a daily basis, not English, French and whatever mixture of the two my brain can conjure up (including sign language and an occasional word in Spanish or German thrown in). 100 days ago today I dreamed in English. 100 days ago today I would have never even thought about approaching a French grocery store worker and acting out all the uses of cotton balls because I couldn’t remember the word in French or find the aisle that kept them. 100 days ago today I had never met anyone from Belgium, Switzerland, Turkey, South Africa, Australia or Mexico. 100 days ago today I didn’t send letters all around Europe and the US or recognize the joy receiving handwritten notes can bring. 100 days ago today I told the customs man that I was 18 when he asked me where I came from. 100 days ago today I used to metric system (and now…well, alright, I still do, but I’m learning how to convert Liters and Grams and Celsius and all that). 100 days ago today I didn’t fully realize how much being an American means to me, or how much I appreciate the love I receive from my family and friends. 100 days ago today I had no comprehension of how delicious croissants and the like really are. 100 days ago today I NEVER would have imagined myself eating cheese ice cream. 100 days ago today…well, I’m not going to say I was a different person, but 100 days ago today I was different (and I will venture to say I was more than 100 days younger than I am today…if that makes any sense at all). If this were elementary school, we would mark this occasion by gluing 100 noodles or stars or something on a piece of paper, or counting 100 marbles in a jar. As I don’t have the resources to do that, I’ll just send everyone back home 100 kisses.

So, aside from all that 100 dayness, I’ve been a busy little papillion as of late. Two weekends ago I had a Rotary conference where I got to see all of my friends and had an absolute BLAST. I stayed over at my friend Victoria’s house for the weekend, and on Sunday before I left to come “home”, we went to the chateau de Chantilly (in her town). It’s absolutely amazing, because the man who lived there (a cousin of Louis the somethingth) put in his will that he wanted nothing moved around or changed and so all the artwork and everything is in the same place that he left it when he died. The gardens were also built by the same man who did the Versailles gardens (but I didn’t get to see them as it was raining very heavily). It was pretty amazing.

Last Friday night, Astrid made Thanksgiving dinner for me and I had two friends, Claire and Charlotte, over. It was really nice and we had turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries and pecan pie. I taught everyone how to make “hand turkeys” and told them the story of Thanksgiving the best I could. It was pretty difficult to translate into French, but I tried…it went something along the lines of: “Once Upon a Time the people in England weren’t really happy with the religion, so they sailed across the sea to ~America~ where they made a little village type thing. There, they ran into some Native Americans and there was lots of fighting, but one day, they decided to be nice and help each other out with food and shelter and all that. When the food was all grown up, the pilgrims and the Native Americans ate together and THAT’S Thanksgiving. And then they fought some more.” It’s been a long time since I actually heard the story, and it was not the easiest thing to do translating it, so cut me some slack.

Other than that, I’ve just been here and there, doing Rotary presentations, babysitting and the like. The past two days I was sick, which ended up making me really homesick as I wanted nothing more than my Mom and Nommie (grandma) to dote on me, but I’m over it now and feeling better both health wise and emotion wise.

Yesterday, President Nicolas Sarkozy was in my town to talk about poverty. I didn’t actually see him, but the traffic was ridiculous and I heard police sirens all day. This Friday night I’m babysitting, this weekend I’m going to Belgium, next week Victoria might come visit me (:]!!) and then the weekend after is the wedding in Belgium. Starting December 20th, I’m on break until January 5th and we’ll be spending Christmas in Belgium between Astrid and Christophe’s families as well as making a trip to Holland. Wow, if I look at the big picture, it seems like June is almost here! Come January, I’ll be switching families for the first time, in February I’m going skiing in Austria with Victoria and her host family, in March there’s a big Rotary weekend in Toulouse (the south of France), April brings a new host family, a visit from my parents and the Eurotrip, in May there’s yet another Rotary trip (I think to Park Asterix?) and then BOOM June…Goodness, I can’t believe it. Do you guys realize it's DECEMBER?!

Well, that’s all for now. Hope all is well. Bisous,

Kristen